Shock, Horror, “its akin to murder, I tell you”

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So a racing trainer is photographed sitting on a dead horse, and the heavens fall in on him because of what? Stupidity? Insensitivity? Sheer Lunacy?

Horse racing, to the fans, to the betting public, to the thousands who watch their tvs, can, I am led to believe, come close to an addiction. The animal itself can lead some people to declare undying love for one or more horses which they have under their care, despite that factual acknowledgement  which tells them that the object of all the expense, such as combing, brushing, formidable financial upkeep, forage and husbanding: is just an animal. It may have been schooled to run, or race, or jump, or walk sideways in time to music, but that horse does that evolution because it had been prodded, pushed or sometimes even whipped into a behaviour which is sometimes foreign to its very nature. 

Being, perhaps, with a mindset formed decades ago, I admire the Shire, the Clydesdale; those massive horses who once were the literal backbone of farming and agriculture in British faming life; banished once machinery took over. I have stroked the noses of horses so large and powerful that they could flatten me without even noticing, but because of their placid nature can be trusted with tiny children. 

clydesdales

But, I digress, back to the subject matter; did Gordon Elliott deserve the tons of appalled digital manure being poured all over him because he sat on a dead horse? He has lost all the horses entrusted to him for training, been temporarily barred from all racecourses until the ‘investigation’ is complete. Is this just, Is it too much; or does he deserve everything poured upon him by ‘outraged’ fans and personalities?

Me? All I would gently remind readers  is that ‘Chevaux’ is preferred in many French restaurants to beef.